


Merry Christmas, Darling

by UnromanticPoetess



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Anniversary, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Wedding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 02:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8950408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnromanticPoetess/pseuds/UnromanticPoetess
Summary: Vegeta and Bulma get married on Christmas day and celebrate every year after that. Or, at least, they try to.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, in the show's canon, Namek exploded and everyone got zapped to Earth on December 24th. I'd already to do a fic tracking every wedding anniversary for Bulma and Vegeta, and that made a nice Christmas connection. So here's two emotionally stunted dorks trying to make things work. Plus Christmas.
> 
> Also, a friend of mine made me want to write romance again. Except I will always be so much fluffier. Seriously, I just can't make these dorks stay sad.

**Dec. 24-25, Age 762**

The first day Vegeta spent on Earth, when he wasn’t actively trying to destroy it, was December 24. That date held no significance for him at the time, being an Earth date. He’d also lost all time sense, having been on a planet with no night, not to mention the fact that he’d died, been resurrected, and seen his life crumble to pieces before his eyes.

Vegeta had watched as the Namekians and Earth people scrambled about, putting together their new lives. He even vaguely remembered bragging about killing a village of Namekians, and he’d hoped those words hadn’t sounded as hollow to the others as they had to himself. The truth was, he was struggling to figure out what he was going to do with the rest of his life, and why that even mattered.

And then the Earth woman took charge and offered him a place to stay, an offer that he was in no position to refuse.

The next day, the Earth woman—“Bulma,” she’d insisted cheerfully but firmly—aggressively decorated her family’s large home in obnoxious red and green. She spent the day yelling “Merry Christmas” and explaining to the puzzled Namekians about an Earth holiday involving the birth of a religious figure and the annual visit of a gift-giving voyeur in a parka. She thankfully kept her distance from Vegeta, and he’d kept his distance from her, until he gave in to the smell of food and she caught him at the buffet table, untouched by the Namekians, loading down a plate.

“I’m glad someone’s eating all this,” Bulma said. Her bright tone was growing weary and strained. “I’d forgotten that Namekians are basically plants.” She laughed. “I guess life would be easier if all we had to worry about was water and sunlight… but it would probably be hell on the skin.”

Vegeta stared at her. She was talking to him like they were resuming a conversation when they’d barely spoken a few words to each other. He’d been prepared to rebuff any of her advances of friendliness. He was just here until he could figure out a way off this planet, maybe see how the galaxy was dealing with the sudden power vacuum following Frieza’s demise, if there was a place for him. With Frieza and Kakarrot dead, he had no reason to hang around, so he wasn’t interested in making friends, especially with people who had seen him at his lowest.

Still, the way she offered conversation without expecting anything in return was oddly disarming.

“Why did you plan this… celebration? It’s obnoxious,” Vegeta said. The workers had finally finished with the large dining room, and it looked like an evergreen forest had become infested with ribbon and strands of silver… tinsel, she’d called it.

“Oh, and I suppose Saiyans’ celebrations are so classy. You probably throw some of your enemies on a spit and hit each other with painsticks,” Bulma retorted, but then she stopped and seemed to sag a bit, cutting off Vegeta’s attempt at an outraged answer. “I… We almost died. Some of us did,” she said, and her voice trembled a bit. “It’s a stupid holiday. New Years’ is going to be a much bigger celebration, but… I thought we could use a reminder that we’re still alive.”

She looked up at the sound of her mother’s voice and left Vegeta with his plate of food. He considered her as she left. A reminder that we’re still alive, she’d said. He was still alive, or alive again. And he was not the only one who was wondering what that even meant.

As for Bulma, she ducked into her room to cry exactly three times throughout the day. She cried long, wailing sobs that made her grateful for the soundproofing in her room. It was spacious, yet empty, like her world felt. They hadn’t yet resurrected Yamcha, Tien Shinhan, or Chiaotzu, and now both Krillen and Goku, two of her oldest friends, were dead.

She had spent the day before coordinating between various gods and the new Namekian Guru to plan the various resurrections and the creation of a new Namekian world. People wouldn’t stay dead.

Bulma knew this, but she still mourned. Of course, her mourning involved pretending everything was okay and throwing a big party. She’d invited Chichi and Gohan, but they’d refused, instead choosing to reconnect after so long apart and try to deal with Goku’s death. Again. She’d filled her house with Namekians and a lost Saiyan prince, and then filled it even more with stupid Christmas decorations. It wasn’t enough. Hollow, meaningless gestures to stave off the darkness.

At least she wasn’t going to have leftovers. Vegeta would take care of those.

She thought that at the end of her third crying jag, and suddenly started laughing. A reminder they were still alive. At least they had that.

  
**Dec. 25, Age 763**

The second annual Capsule Corporation Christmas party had changed from a small collection of shell-shocked and bewildered aliens to the social event of the year. Upon returning from Namek, Bulma had officially become the CEO of Capsule Corp., so she was expected to lead the company as well as serve as the public face. Anyone who was worth anything had an invitation.

Bulma had fought hard to reserve invitations for her friends. Krillen, Tien, Chiaotzu, Launch, Chichi, Gohan, Piccolo, Master Roshi, and Oolong. Oh, and Yamcha. Because she decided not inviting her ex was more awkward than inviting him… though she was reconsidering. Their attempt at a relationship after he’d gotten revived had lasted all of a month, and they’d finally decided they had become very different people. The break-up of the CEO of Capsule Corp and West City Taitan’s best pitcher served as tabloid fodder for a while, with mostly-exaggerated reports of some of their more public arguments.

Everyone except Launch (who was doing community service) and Piccolo (who she hadn’t expected to come anyway) showed up to the Christmas party, all dressed in the best clothes they had but still looking like bumpkins next to the social elite. Bulma didn’t care, and glared down anyone who made snide remarks about them. She pointedly spent most of her time with them as well. They knew her. They’d helped save the world. The so-called elites could go stuff it.

Bulma kept glancing at the buffet table while talking to Chichi and Krillen, remembering the year before, when Vegeta had finally left his room to eat up most of the catering. He wasn’t taking the bait this time. The last she’d checked, his invitation was still taped to the outside of the gravity chamber, where he spent most of his time ever since his short-lived trip out into space.

In a ship stolen from her, she thought tartly. Her ears were still ringing from that argument. He’d returned from space angry and bitter… more so than usual, and now he spent his days training, eating, sleeping, and ignoring most of her attempts at friendship. The attempts he didn’t ignore turned into arguments.

Bulma did a fair bit of dancing, the stilted and politic dances with businessmen giving way to the cheerful and playful ones with her friends. She even managed to have a civil conversation with Yamcha, who muttered something about practice the next morning and left early. She laughed the entire time with Krillen, but they had to break off early to keep Master Roshi from starting an international incident with a particularly voluptuous foreign ambassador.

Slowly, the guests trickled out, and then her friends, Chichi carrying a sleeping Gohan to their car. Bulma stood outside to bid farewell to the last of the guests. The only thing that had been missing was Goku. They’d heard word from King Kai that Goku was planning to return to Earth within the year, so there had been extra cause for celebration, but Chichi and Gohan were still subdued. It had been hard to hear that Goku preferred to stay away after they’d found that he was still alive. Bulma wondered if he was hiding something. He was so open, all the time, but sometimes Bulma could tell there was a tiny little reserve behind those innocent eyes, a little darkness that he kept hidden away.

Of course, that was loads better than the other Saiyan she knew, who kept everything so shut tight no one had a chance of getting to know him. Which seemed to be Vegeta’s intent, to be fair. Bulma sighed, irritated at herself for letting her thoughts stray to that arrogant asshole again. Like she didn’t have anything better to do.

So, of course, when she walked into the ballroom, Vegeta was there, helping himself to what was left of the feast.

“You know,” Bulma said, “if you had actually come to the party, you’d have more to choose from.”

Vegeta grunted and kept eating. He looked ravenous. She reflected that she hadn’t seen him around mealtimes. When was the last time he’d eaten?

Bulma cleared her throat. “Goku’s coming back. You know, the person you went into space to find? And apparently couldn’t?”

Vegeta looked up at that, looking surprised and wary. Bulma wondered if that was becoming his default expression.

“I figured that would get your attention,” Bulma said, smirking. “You know, if you want to keep living here, it might not be a good idea to kill my best friend.”

Bulma didn’t know why she was baiting him. The fact that he’d hidden until everyone had left irritated her for some reason. It was as antisocial as ever, but a bit cowardly. It didn’t seem like him. He’d usually crash any party whether he was invited or not.

“I suppose you think you can do fuck-all to throw me out?” Vegeta said, his voice light and mocking.

Bulma crossed her arms. “I may not solve all my problems with my fists, but I’m a genius.” She pulled herself to her full height, which, in heels, was taller than Vegeta. “Try me.”

Vegeta cast a disdainful look at her and put his plate down. “Fine, woman. I can leave.” He began to walk out.

Again, that irritated Bulma for reasons she couldn’t fully comprehend. It wasn’t like him to give up on an argument so easily. Dammit, she would rather he shout at her.

“If you think you’re taking my spaceship again, think again,” Bulma called after him. “I’ve locked the flight controls. It’s just a gravity room now. You’ll have to find your own ride if you want to leave Earth again.”

“I can’t do that.”

His words were so soft that Bulma almost missed them. He was frozen, standing in the middle of what they’d used as a dance floor. It was dark, only a few strands of Christmas lights illuminating him. Even in the dark lighting, he could tell his shoulders were bunched up. He was tenser than she’d seen him in a while.

“Well, obviously…” She stopped. “You… you didn’t go out into space to find Goku, did you?”

“I have no idea where Kakarrot is,” Vegeta said, “nor do I care.”

Bulma could hear the lie in his voice, but she didn’t interrupt him.

“The universe is in chaos,” Vegeta said, his voice tense and weary. “Frieza’s family is fighting over his territory, what was left of Frieza’s officers are trying to organize, both Kakarrot and I have prices on our heads, as well as everyone else who went to Namek…”

“Me, too?” Bulma said. Vegeta tended to forget she was on Namek.

Vegeta smirked at her, finally turning around. “I think you’re safe.”

She chuckled. “So… what… you’re just going to hide here? Let the universe sort itself out?”

“I thought I might.”

Bulma crossed her arms, knowing she was baiting him again. “Doesn’t sound like the Vegeta I know.”

“Oh, and you think you know me?” Still, it was without the anger that had been a hallmark of most of their interactions. “That’s a trick. I barely know myself.”

Bulma sighed. “So your whole universe imploded. You’re not the only one.” She’d been slowly walking toward him, and in a moment of inspiration, she turned the music and lights back on. Karen Carpenter began singing about a Merry Christmas, and Bulma approached Vegeta.

“What are you doing, woman?” Vegeta took a half-step back, but Bulma caught his hand.

“Dance with me,” Bulma said, smiling. “You do know how to dance, don’t you?”

“Tch… of course,” Vegeta said.

Bulma fully expected Vegeta to leave, calling her a foolish woman, but instead he took her offered hand and began to move with her.

“A reminder we’re still alive?” Vegeta asked, his voice only slightly ironic.

Bulma laughed. “You remembered.”

He… didn’t exactly know how to dance, but like all the other fighters she knew, he knew how to move and adapt. The song was slow and sultry, and slowly the tension bled from Vegeta’s shoulders. They didn’t speak, but merely held each other, long after the music ended.

The next day, Bulma unlocked the flight controls on the gravity room/space ship. Vegeta didn’t leave.

For Vegeta, the places where Bulma had touched him the night before during their dance still burned his skin, just as her words burned in his mind. He would stay… but not because he was hiding. It was because he wanted to know who he was, and maybe Bulma was key in figuring that out.

Besides, Kakarrot would be here within the year. Killing him might be just the morale boost he needed.

  
**Dec. 25, Age 764**

When they decided to get married, Vegeta had expected Bulma to want a large ceremony like the ones the tabloids had been predicting. He hadn’t meant to read a frivolous human newspaper, but his picture had become a frequent sight in several of them after a group of photographers had caught them exiting a hotel. He’d cared little and had gotten immense amusement out of Bulma’s shouted threats at the ones who called her phone. One afternoon he’d succumbed to curiosity and read the wild speculation of his status and their future plans.

They’d guessed that he was a foreign prince. They’d gotten that right, at least.

Bulma, however, had neither the time nor the patience for long, drawn-out affairs. The mission, the threat of a future android apocalypse, had given her the focus she’d been lacking for the past few years. Indeed, it had given him focus as well. The possibility of being dead in a few years was good motivation.

They decided on December 25. Bulma wore the dress she was going to wear that night at the Capsule Corp Christmas party, a red, shimmery dress with only one sleeve. Vegeta wore his usual armor, the simple white chestplate. As an afterthought, he pinned to his chest his red Saiyan insignia, the one he’d worn when he left his home planet. Frieza had forbidden it—he didn’t like soldiers keeping any rank that Frieza himself hadn’t given them—but Vegeta had saved it. Today seemed like the appropriate day to wear it once more.

Bulma’s parents (and their cat) accompanied them and acted as witnesses. If Bulma had told any of her assorted friends, she didn’t let on. She knew and respected Vegeta’s private nature. They said their vows, signed some papers, and attended the Christmas party that night without anyone being the wiser. Kakarrot attended the Christmas party with his family. His grins in Bulma’s and Vegeta’s directions were particularly annoying, but Vegeta did not dignify any of his significant glances with a response. It was none of his business, and they’d called a truce until they’d dealt with the androids. Vegeta didn’t want to give the moron a heart attack before his time.

Only the staff who were assigned moving Bulma’s and Vegeta’s belongings into a penthouse suite at Capsule Corp knew of the change, and they were loyal to the Briefs family, so the tabloids would just have to guess.

Bulma, exhausted from all the entertaining her position forced her to do, turned a corner to get a moment of peace. She hadn’t taken two breaths before she felt a hand close around hers and pull her away.

Bulma giggled as Vegeta pulled her down the hallways toward their new penthouse. “Impatient, are we?”

Vegeta growled and pushed her against the wall. “I’ll never understand your insistence on these obnoxious parties.”

“Oh, come on. It’s Christmas,” Bulma teased.

“I care very little about…”

Bulma stopped him talking with a kiss, and Vegeta seemed to forget what he was even saying. So did Bulma, for that matter. They broke apart, gasping. Bulma’s shoulder strap had slipped down, and Vegeta brushed the exposed skin with calloused hands. At some point, he’d taken off his gloves.

“Fuck it… bedroom,” Bulma said, now pulling Vegeta behind her, relishing the sound of his husky laugh.

She opened the door to their new home. As she’d requested, the bedroom was lit with candles, and “Merry Christmas, Darling” by Karen Carpenter was playing.

Vegeta smirked. “Sentimental, aren’t we?”

Bulma pulled down the zipper of her dress and wiggled her hips until it pooled around her feet. “One of us has to be.” She laughed as his eyes cast down and started peeling his armor chestplate off. “I can be vulgar, too.”

“I have no doubt, woman,” Vegeta said.

  
**Dec. 25, Age 765**

For their first anniversary, they were apart. Vegeta was training in space, using the gravity room/space ship to push his abilities just as Kakarrot had done. It was safer in the systems around Earth. The death of King Cold, Cooler, and Frieza again had assured that. No one would bother him, and the ones that might were no real threat.

At the end of a long workout, Vegeta saw he had a message from Bulma.

“Merry Christmas, Happy Anniversary, and, oh yeah…” Bulma said. “Where the fuck have you been for months?! You could train here, you know, but no! High and mighty Prince Vegeta has to go train on some space rock! You could be dead for all I know. In fact,” her face twisted in a smirk on the video display. “I guess I should consider myself a widow now. A rich widow. I might have to dig out my address book again. Maybe Yamcha’s still available.” She ended the recording with a sexy smile and a wink.

Vegeta laughed, despite being a bit angry that she still brought up her ex whenever she wanted to irritate him. He could see through all her bullshit. He’d been gone for months, he was terrible at keeping in touch, and she was genuinely worried about him. She just had to wrap it in her entitled heiress personality so he wouldn’t think she was worried.

He also realized that, just like Christmas, New Year’s, and apparently birthdays (he didn’t know his, and the date on the birth certificate and identity papers Dr. Briefs had paid for was fabricated), Earth creatures remembered their wedding date each year. He turned off the gravity and brought up the display to send a message of his own.

“You can do as you wish, woman,” Vegeta said. “As you can see, I am alive, no thanks to your infernal technology. This ship has tried to kill me on three occasions, and I have no choice but to come back and have you do a complete overhaul. I should be back in a few days, unless the damned thing explodes on the way.”

With that, he turned the ship around and decided to get some much-needed sleep.

Bulma watched Vegeta’s response the next day over a cup of coffee. She was neck deep in work, so she wasn’t really worried that they’d spent their first wedding anniversary apart. And she could tell he was sorry… underneath all the bullshit.

Bulma blearily listened to her mother recount the Christmas party she’d missed and instead pored over the new designs. The androids were less than two years away, and they still had so much to do.

  
**Dec. 25, Age 766**

On their second wedding anniversary, Vegeta was home and Bulma was very very pregnant.

Her pregnancy had not stopped her from working, however. Vegeta caught her in the gravity room trying to calibrate a control panel. Without listening to her protests, he led her out of the gravity room and back to their bed.

“I’m bored!” Bulma wailed. The doctor had put her on bedrest, but she kept sneaking out. “Pregnancy is such a fucking pain! If it was a machine, I’d have it finished by now.”

Vegeta kept silent through her protests, noticing that she was out of breath when she finally sank back into bed.

“You have your computer in bed,” Vegeta pointed out while she was catching her breath. “You can walk around the penthouse if you get restless. I don’t see why you’re so stubborn.”

“Oh, that’s real rich coming from Mr. ‘I don’t care about life-threatening injuries as long as I can defeat Kakarrot,’” she said, deepening her voice at the final few words.

Vegeta would have usually gotten angry and left at this point. Instead, he continued heating the water on the stove in the corner. “Is that supposed to be me, woman?”

“What gave it away?” Bulma said through heavy irony.

Again, Vegeta didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he poured the water and set a timer.

“Dammit, drop the act already!!”

Vegeta turned in surprise. Bulma was half-rising in bed and glaring daggers at him. If it weren’t for the fact that she much weaker than he, and weaker than normal anyway, he might have been a bit afraid. He wasn’t, of course.

“Act?” he said slowly, his voice remaining calm.

“You know what I mean!” Bulma practically screamed. “Doting husband and expectant father. Even-tempered no matter what I say to you. This isn’t you, dammit!”

Bulma had been prone to these outbursts recently, and Vegeta wondered if it was the stress or the hormones. He never mentioned either theory, though. That would only make things worse.

“Would you rather I take the spaceship and go train?” Vegeta said cautiously.

“That would be more like you,” Bulma grumbled. She accepted the steaming cup ramen from Vegeta and began munching on it angrily.

“You asked me to stay, remember?” Vegeta said. He was trying desperately not to get angry at her, but she wasn’t making it easy. “You wanted me to be here when our son is born.”

Bulma rolled her eyes. “You never listened to me before.”

“And the last time I missed our anniversary, you screamed at me over three star systems.”

Bulma lowered her ramen cup in shock. “Oh, kami, it’s our anniversary. Shit, I mean…” Bulma took a breath. “Happy anniversary.”

“And Merry Christmas,” Vegeta pointed out as he put a pillow under Bulma’s back. “Rest, woman. That’s the best thing you can do.”

“So much for being sentimental,” Bulma said, tears in her eyes.

“But you’ll always be vulgar,” Vegeta pointed out, and Bulma finally laughed.

  
**Dec. 25, Age 767**

The Christmas after the Cell Games, Capsule Corp held an office Christmas party at their corporate headquarters rather than the building that served as the family home. Bulma didn’t attend, and neither did any of her friends. Instead, Bulma packed up her best plane and flew to Mt. Paozu, as she had done so many times before.

Chichi met her in the yard, holding a sleeping baby with a very familiar head of hair.

“Holy shit, Chichi,” Bulma said in a quiet voice. “He looks just like Goku.”

Chichi laughed in agreement. “It’s good of you to come, Bulma. You didn’t have to. It’s Christmas. And… isn’t it your anniversary as well?”

Bulma flinched but kept her smile as she accepted the baby from Chichi’s arms. His hair… his face… he was uncannily like Goku, in a way that Gohan never had been.

“I wanted to see the new member of the Son family,” Bulma said, savoring the warm weight in her arms. Trunks was getting too rambunctious and impatient to be held like this unless he was practically asleep. “And to see if there was anything I could do.”

Chichi chuckled. “What have you brought?” she asked.

Bulma handed her a capsule case. “Capsule 1 for groceries, capsule 2 for baby things. The rest are surprises for later. I knew you wouldn’t be able to go for supplies for a while.”

“You’d be right,” Chichi said with a chuckle. “Come on in. I’ll make you some tea.”

Bulma smiled. “Tea” for Chichi usually meant what amounted to a four-course meal.

Goten woke up while Chichi was heating things up, and Bulma fed him from a bottle that Chichi provided. He looked up at her with wide eyes and tried to grab her hair. Bulma laughed but quickly tied her hair back. Trunks had once managed to rip a section of her hair out, and she learned not to take the strength of Saiyan babies for granted.

“How’s Gohan?” Bulma asked. “ _Where’s_ Gohan?”

Chichi gave her a sad smile. “He’s probably in the woods somewhere. He might be with Piccolo. I’m not too worried. Sundown is his curfew, and he hasn’t missed it yet.”

Bulma accepted the cup of tea from Chichi and handed Goten back to her. “He’s not training, is he? I mean, is there anything to train for?” Bulma knew Gohan enough to know that he didn’t just train for the sake of getting stronger. He’d been looking forward to a quiet life of study and… well… just being a normal kid. He’d had to pay dearly for the privilege. Too dearly. Bulma hid the tears stinging her eyes by gulping down her tea too quickly.

Chichi shook her head. “Not like he has been, anyway. I talked to Piccolo the other day, when he came by to see this little man.” She squeezed Goten, who was already going back to sleep. “Sounds like they’re meditating, mostly. Gohan’s been having nightmares,” Chichi admitted.

Bulma ached for Gohan. For Chichi, who was trying to hide her pain. For herself, and she felt really guilty about that.

“So why are you not celebrating your anniversary with Vegeta?” Chichi said, her face turning stern.

Bulma nearly dropped her tea. “Well, I mean, it’s not like it’s all that important,” Bulma tried to laugh. Chichi’s stern face made her crumble. “I don’t think he’s coming home today.”

Chichi’s face puckered in concern. “Do you know where he is?”

“Oh, I know where he is,” Bulma said with a bitter smile. “I put trackers in all of his boots.”

“That’s very paranoid of you,” Chichi said. “I couldn’t be prouder.”

Bulma tried to laugh, but then gave up. “He’s depressed. He’s mostly been hanging around wastelands. Not even training; I had Krillen check on him. From a distance. Using ki-sense. He’s just… brooding.”

Chichi looked like she wanted to say something unpleasant, but didn’t really want to say it. Bulma took pity on her. “I’ve thought about what to do if Vegeta goes evil again. But I don’t think he’s going to do it.”

“Why not?” Chichi asked. “I mean, with Goku not here…”

Bulma’s tears finally fell. “Well, I’d like to think Trunks and I would be reason enough.”

Chichi looked a bit panicked, and walked around the chair to hug Bulma. This unfortunately woke up Goten, who started crying as well, so it took several minutes for everyone to settle back down.

“I can talk to him,” a small voice came from the doorway.

Gohan walked in, looking sadder and more tired than Bulma had ever seen him.

“I can sense where Vegeta is,” Gohan continued. He went over to help himself to tea. “Right now he’s at the wasteland where he fought Dad when he first came to Earth.”

Gohan took a seat with his tea, and Bulma noticed that his feet reached the floor. He’d grown up so much when she hadn’t noticed.

“Gohan, that’s… good of you to offer,” Chichi said, “but I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

He looked down at his tea. “I… I just don’t want to have to fight him.”

At those words, a tiny bit of Bulma’s heart broke, and she could tell Chichi was faring about the same. Damn you, Goku, she thought. She didn’t know if Goku had ever even considered what he’d done, that Gohan now considered himself the last line of defense for Earth. And it was obviously tearing him apart.

“It’s not going to come to that, kiddo,” Bulma said, ruffling his hair like she used to do on their trip to Namek. “Besides, you’re way too busy with schoolwork and being a big brother to worry over my problems. Show me what you’ve been working on.”

Both Gohan and Chichi looked relieved, and Gohan started to talk excitedly about physics. Bulma stayed with them through supper, and Bulma regaled them with stories of Goku when he was young. By the time she left, Bulma felt much better, and both Gohan and Chichi looked a bit less sad.

When Bulma returned home and entered the living quarters of Capsule Corp, she fully expected to see her parents waiting up for her after putting Trunks to bed. Instead, she heard the ominous sound of Trunks’s delighted squeals, which could only mean one thing: Trunks was out of his crib and probably climbing.

She ran for the living room, knowing he’d probably be halfway up his favorite bookshelf. Sure enough, he was… along with a shoeless Vegeta, floating just out of reach of Trunks’s reaching arm.

Bulma couldn’t decide whether to laugh or throw a fit. “Vegeta… what are you doing?”

Vegeta looked over his shoulder, drifting a bit further away from Trunks, which only made the baby more determined to grab him. “Your parents told me to watch him,” Vegeta said, jerking his head toward the baby. Trunks narrowly missed grabbing Vegeta’s hair.

Bulma sighed, ready to dive to catch Trunks if he fell. “They meant to take care of him… not just watch him. He’s going to get himself killed. You’re going to get him killed.”

“The boy’s a Saiyan,” Vegeta said irritably. “He won’t die from such a short fall.”

“No, but you will if you let him fall,” Bulma replied hotly.

“I’m not going to let the boy fall, woman!”

At that moment, Trunks took a wild grab at Vegeta, over-balanced, and began to fall. Bulma could only get out a small shriek before Vegeta scooped him out of the air and held him to his chest.

“Like I said.” Vegeta smirked. He descended to land beside her, Trunks giggling madly.

Bulma sighed, almost took Trunks from him, and then decided no to. “Well, it’s time for him to s-l-e-e-p. Do you want to see how it’s done?”

Vegeta frowned. “It can’t be that difficult to get a child to sleep.”

Immediately, Trunks perked up and yelled, “NO!”

Vegeta looked at Trunks with a shocked expression. Bulma sighed and held her head. “That’s what’s so difficult.”

Vegeta started to look panicked as Trunks kept screaming. “What’s wrong with him?!”

Bulma laughed. “Nothing. Come on. I know a few tricks.”

It took about an hour, but by the end Trunks was asleep. Vegeta and Bulma collapsed on the couch, completely exhausted.

“You do this every night?” Vegeta asked.

“Not every night is so difficult,” Bulma said. “Trunks was excited to see you.”

Vegeta looked away. Bulma worried that he was going to run off, but he made no moves to leave.

“Where are your shoes?” Bulma asked, already knowing the answer.

“Tch. You don’t have to track me, woman.”

Bulma rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I can get you to carry a phone, can I?”

“What I mean is…” Vegeta said slowly, “you don’t have to worry about me.”

Bulma blushed and looked away. Damn man could be perceptive when he wanted to be. “Well, it’s not like you can blame me. You’re never around.”

“I am now.”

Bulma’s eyes widened. “Did you come back for our anniversary?”

Vegeta glared. “You think much of yourself, woman.”

Bulma smiled and leaned on his shoulder, and he didn’t pull away. They woke up the next morning, still on the couch. At some point, Bulma’s parents had thrown a blanket over the two of them. They looked away from each other, vaguely embarrassed, but this time Vegeta did not leave.


End file.
